The Problems of Publishing and Murder Notes
by Hannah Kay the Writer
Summary: Ginger hair, family crisis, a note about a murder? Hermione could only hope this is was all some big coincidence.
1. Chapter 1

**Ginger hair, family crisis, a note about a murder? Hermione could only hope this is was all some big coincidence.**

 **AU: Hermione Granger is an aspiring editor at a publishing company in England when her boss assigns her to meet a new author in London. On the train, though, she finds a note that shocks her and makes her miss her stop. She's forced to unload at a new train station, miles away from where she was supposed to have her meeting, and Hermione's life is changed forever.  
**

 **It's been a while since I've done this, so Fanfiction treat me well maybe?**

 **Review, plalease!**

Hermione's foot tapped listlessly against the floor of the train, and she cast a glance at her watch. The small gold face gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight, reminding her that because of the train's earlier delay, she was fifteen minutes late for her business meeting. Sighing, she determined there was no sense worrying about the delay or her degree of lateness. She'd already called to apologize for the disturbance in the company's strict schedule she would be causing. There wasn't much more she could do than that for the moment.

Dragging a hand through her mossy brown hair, Hermione maneuvered forward in her seat to retrieve a magazine from the seat ahead of her. A cool blast of air blustered against her cheek, and she flushed, straightening. She nibbled on her lower lip, and she flipped through the glossy pages. "Harry Potter's got a new girlfriend, yeah?" She mumbled, shaking her head.

"That's an old magazine actually," the girl beside Hermione piped up. She had a pale face and white blonde, rod straight hair, and her expression was slightly dreamy She wore a polka dotted blouse and white trousers, and she gestured to the front cover.

Hermione shrugged a shoulder. "Oh," she said softly, lipping the page. She really didn't care about Harry Potter or any of the other drama intense celebrities idolized in the pages of this (and the other) magazine. Harry Potter'd never done anything to contribute to society beside be born into a family with money, and somehow that escalated him to the height of society.

"What's that sticking out of your magazine, Miss?" The blonde questioned, and Hermione cast an off handed glance toward the girl.

Hermione found herself wishing she hadn't initiated contact at all - though to be fair, she'd never intended for her comment to cause this conversation about celebrities in magazines or whatever we were talking about. "This isn't my magazine," she replied tiredly. "It was in the seatback."

The blonde nodded once and pointed a pale finger toward the slip of paper sticking out of the bottom of the magazine. "Peculiar, isn't it?"

Hermione shrugged, because she didn't care. She merely wanted to get to her meeting with the greatest amount of grace. To appease the girl, though, she fingered the slip of paper from the bottom of the magazine and pried it from the pages.

The paper crinkled underneath her fingers, and she sighed, dusting her fingers through her hair. It was folded in half, so she unfolded it carefully. In messy scrawl, someone had written, "Hello, my name is Ron Weasley, and I am in love with a girl named Lavender Brown. Things just got complicated, though. I killed her." The scrawl tapered off, and the paper was torn at the edges.

Hermione frowned down at the slip, holding it in her pale hands with a moment of quiet contemplation. Surely it was a joke - only a joke. "Oh, I forgot," Hermione managed. "This is mine. This is my magazine." The lie was feeble, but the blonde girl seemed no longer interested. She'd dissolved into the colorful book in her hands without another thought.

Hermione held the slip of paper in her hands, biting her bottom lip. She'd heard that name before. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were the terrors of her freshman year. She'd been sent off to boarding school at fifteen, but after a year of Ron and Harry's torment, her parents finally caved and let Hermione come home.

The thin paper was rough against Hermione's palm, and she groaned softly. She'd hoped to never hear Ronald Weasley's name again after her short time at Hogwarts. He'd been infinitely worse than the Harry Potter situation. Ginger hair and a high school crush could kill a girl's self esteem, and Hermione'd taken the train from Hogwarts at the end of that year with little to none left. Years later, seeing his name carved into the crumbling paper in front of her, Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

The train hissed with life, startling Hermione from her thoughts. Ron Weasley, a boy she'd craved for a tantalizingly long year, was suddenly back in her life. His face was a fixture in her mind, wild and redheaded, doe eyed smile and all. A master of disguise, a lover, a murderer, apparently. More likely, the note was no more than a very morbid joke, but Hermione couldn't refrain from imagining the boy in a pair of striped pajamas standing over a gory dead body. He was still fifteen in her memory, seated in the common room of their dormitory with Harry Potter. They teased her mercilessly, but Ron's hands were bloody. Lord, why had she been attracted to him in the first place? Ronald Weasley was the not so smart, not so sly guy that didn't have any thoughts, and yet Hermione spent an entire year wishing he would want her. Wishing she could run his fingers through his ginger hair, wishing she could smile endlessly at him…

"Miss? Where are you going?" The blonde asked Hermione, and Hermione looked up again. She glanced down at her watch with a lifted eyebrow. Her mini mental meltdown had lasted alot longer than she'd planned for it to last. In fact, it'd been a good twenty minutes, and the train ride was only meant to be fifteen minutes longer.

Hermione blinked, slamming the magazine back into the seatback where she found it and shoving the piece of crumpled paper into her pocket. "King's Cross. I need to get off at King's Cross."

The blonde frowned, and her pale eyebrows pinched together. "I think they just stopped at King's Cross, Miss."

Panic spread through Hermione's chest. She couldn't be later to this meeting. Actually, she couldn't miss this meeting. With her luck, this would kill her chances at getting the promotion she'd been working day and night to achieve, and she couldn't let this ruin everything for her. Especially not because of Ronald Weasley.

Hermione grappled on the ground to gather her beaded suitcase from the floor. It was her mother's favorite suitcase from college, and then she gave it to Hermione when she went away to college, but she continued to carry it when she got her job at her favorite publishing company. Okay, to be fair Hermione didn't so much work there, but she did run to and fro ordering lunches and refilling coffee cups while the big guys in suits published pretty novels and edited messy manuscripts.

It wasn't until yesterday that Hermione realized her boss actually knew she existed, because before that she was pretty sure Mr. Pretty Boy Malfoy with the slick blonde hair and misty gray eyes actually thought his soy lattes actually materialized on his desk unprovoked. Yesterday, though, Mr. Malfoy stepped out of his blank slate of an office wearing his signature pressed white dress shirt and black slacks - no tie, that would be too pretentious - and beckoned me into his office.

"Miss Granger? Can I speak to you for a moment?" He called to Hermione from the doorway, and she scrambled from her desk. She'd been carefully stacking the paperwork she'd spent all morning shuffling when he emerged from seclusion, and Hermione hoped he didn't think she'd been goofing off.

She stood, quickly adjusting the yellow sundress she'd worn to work that day. She picked up her clipboard, nuzzled it into her arm, and then hurried into his office. The click clack of her slingback heels thundered through the office, and she blushed at the noise. She always hated the counterproductive sound the heels made against the hardwood office floor, but her not-so-steady boyfriend told her that the heels made her look professional, so she wore them. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" She stood near the door, noting the time on the wide clock on the wall. Only an hour of sloshing his coffee for today - just one more hour, sixty minutes, three thousand and six hundred seconds.

"You've been working here for two years, right?" The question struck Hermione, but she managed a single nod. Yes, two years and three months of him, his greasy hair, and his weasley smile. "I think it's time I give you a little more responsibility, don't you?"

Hermione blinked, stopping short. The question sent a nervous thrill up her spine. Maybe it was her time. Or maybe this was all just some joke. She hesitated. "Sir?"

He nodded. "Sit down, Miss Granger," he directed, and she did. Her doe eyed smile peered up at him, confused, and he walked around his desk to sit on the edge. The chair in front of him was made of cold leather, and it was less than inviting to Hermione's bare legs. "I would like for you to travel to London tomorrow." He reached behind himself and pulled out a manila folder with a slimy smirk. He handed the folder to Hermione, and she flipped it open slowly. On top of the stack of papers was a glossy train ticket. "You'll be meeting an author - a peppy little ginger thing. She's got a finished manuscript I would very much like to get my hands on, but I can't afford to leave the office tomorrow. I'm meeting with the big dogs tomorrow at three, and there is no guarantee I would be back by then." He paused, looking at Hermione thoughtfully. "I want you to make this girl happy, Miss Granger. This might just be your big break."

Then he'd shuffled Hermione out of office in shock. Later that night, Hermione sat across from her boyfriend, Neville, at the kitchen table in her apartment. She poured them both a glass of wine, and she sighed. "What will I wear? What will I say?"

Neville lifted a spoonful of peas to his mouth. "Malfoy said make her happy. Just be yourself. It's a girl, right? Spunky young thing, I would guess. It is probably good Malfoy is sending you instead of himself. He's kind of...skeevy," Neville claimed, laughing at his own joke. "As for what you should wear...nothing too sexy," he teased, and Hermione barked a laugh. "You should definitely wear one of your cute little sundresses. I vote the red and white one. Not intimidating but friendly."

Hermione sighed, taking a long drag from her wine glass. "Neville, please be serious. I'm worried about this."

Neville exhaled softly, reaching up to untie his tie. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you shouldn't be worried. You're good at your job. You're going to charm the pants off of this author." He laughed. "Hopefully not literally."

Hermione laughed halfheartedly. "That gives me so much confidence, Neville," she answered softly. She pulled her hair into a messy bun, and he lifted an eyebrow.

"Come here, then, Hermione. I'll help," he answered, opening his arms to Hermione. She nodded slowly and stood to climb onto his lap. Neville smiled. "That's my girl," he whispered, slipping his arms around Hermione's waist. "Now, don't worry about tomorrow, Hermione. All jokes aside, you're going to be great." Then he'd kissed her, and they finished their meal. She'd set her red and white sundress out to wear the next day, hung it up on the back of the door, and climbed into bed with him.

Now, Hermione wished she could reset the clock five hours to when she climbed out of his bed and start this day over. She hustled through the chairs to one of the attendants. "Excuse me, but I need to get off at King's Cross."

The attendant looked up from where she was stacking cups. "King's Cross? We already stopped at King's Cross, ma'am. Just a few minutes ago… you'll have to wait for the next stop."

Hermione frowned at the woman in the pencil skirt, but she nodded tiredly. This mistake was obviously her own fault, and her stomach turned with the realization. She might lose her job because of this, but she definitely won't get the promotion. "Yes ma'am. Thank you."

Hermione turned to sit beside the blonde girl once again, replacing her suitcase on the ground once again. "I can't get off until the next stop," she mumbled to the blonde girl who managed a small smile.

"That's my stop actually," the blonde girl replied. "About an hour from King's Cross, though."

Hermione exhaled, pulling her phone from her pocket and speed dialing our favorite author. The dial tone made Hermione feel as if she might faint, but seconds later a soft voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Hermione Granger. I'm so sorry, but I've missed my stop. I'll be in London as soon as possible, though. I'm sorry about this," Hermione exclaimed in a rush.

The girl on the other end of the line paused for a moment. "That's actually perfect, Miss Granger… a rather large family crisis has come up and I need to deal with that."

Hermione exhaled sharply. So, she was lucky. Mystery author had a family crisis. That might just save her. "I'm sorry to hear that. Would you like to reschedule for tomorrow morning, say nine?"

Another pause, but shorter this time. "That would be perfect. I'll call Mr. Malfoy, and tell him things are going well, so you need to stay a night?"

Hermione nodded, inwardly thanking the girl for her understanding. This entire mess made her tired, so she leaned back in her chair. "Wonderful. Thank you so much. I'll contact you a little later, so we can pick a location. I hope everything is resolved with your family quickly."

"Thanks… I hope so too." The girl sounded nervous, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was going on with her. "Talk to you later."

The line went dead, and Hermione's hand went to her bag, pulling out the note. Her fingers slid across the words, tracing the name and all the words involved. Ginger hair, family crisis, a note about a murder? Hermione could only hope this is was all some big coincidence.

 **Reviews would be cool, thanks.**


	2. Chapter 2

**so, I have a new computer! so the whole writing thing will happen again, so YAAAS.**

 **Also, fun fact fanfiction, but I had a short novel published April 19, and that is exciting. hit up finch - books . com and things... cuz it cool and the cover is GORGEOUS.**

 **Hannah Kay xx**

The train pulled up at the station, and Hermione peered out the small window. She faced a dull, rainy afternoon with nothing to do and nowhere to go, but she grabbed her suitcase from the floorboard to exit the train anyway. The girl that had formerly been seated beside her had gathered her things and smiled when Hermione looked up, so Hermione decided to ask her a question. After all, this was her stop. Maybe she'd been here before and could give her some sort of direction as to the best places to ride out a frigid night like that night would be.

"Ma'am, do you know of any hotels around here?" Hermione asked, figuring it would be cheaper for her to spend the night in this small town and taking an early train into the city than taking the train out now and paying for a room in London tonight.

The blonde's smile broadened. "I actually own a little hotel on top of a pub if you don't mind a few seedy characters," she said. Behind the girl's eyes was a mischievous smile, so Hermione knew the girl must only be kidding.

Hermione smiled. "Isn't that perfect?" There was a tiny pinch in her brain, distracting her from being able to focus, and a drink would be great after the tough day she'd had. She would have a drink and a grilled cheese, and then she could take a hot bath to wash of this vile day.

"Yes, perfect," the blonde said before slowly taking inventory of my person. She paused, slipping a hand through her platinum blonde hair. "Don't you have any bags?"

Hermione exhaled, looking at her. Her companion had a point. She wouldn't be able to spend the night in God knows where without pajamas or a toothbrush or anything to wear tomorrow for the big interview "No," she said. "I...erm, this stop wasn't exactly planned."

The blonde nodded, and her pale lips turned up into a sated smile. "That's alright. There are lots of shops downtown… not more than a few blocks away. You could easily pick up a couple things once you get settled into your room."

Hermione nodded and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and nodded. "Okay," she said. She couldn't exactly argue. Tomorrow Hermione was facing the breakthrough of her career - if she didn't screw it up. She couldn't deal with the spicy ginger author without having brushed her teeth or hair wearing the same dress she wore on the train ride to this God forsaken place. A new dress might quite possibly be the trick to give Hermione the emotional boost she needed to win the book.

They exited the train, and Hermione followed the blonde through the train station. She noted that this woman could be leading her off to her death, but by the same token the blonde was merely a reasonably kind stranger excited to have found buisness for her undoubtedly floundering hotel. From the looks of the train station, there weren't many visitors to this hubble. A visitor for hotel would be a perfect solution for her. Of course she would be nice to a possible guest. That was the only explanation. Hermione mentally hedged along as they emerged from the train station and stepped onto the street.

Hermione pulled her briefcase an inch closer to her body and turned to her. "I forgot to say, I'm Hermione."

The girl's smile brightened, and she nodded. "Nice to meet you. I'm Luna," she said. Luna turned and crossed the street. Hermione peered after her as she slipped gracefully toward a peculiar looking four story building. Each floor was painted a separate odd shade of the rainbow, and there were four rusted flower pots with a cluster of flowers sprouting from brown sodden pots.

Luna stood in front of her hotel now, and she spun to face Hermione. Her smile was inviting, and she extended a hand to Hermione once again. "What're you waiting for?" Luna's voice twinkled from across the road, and Hermione laughed halfheartedly. It was time for her to follow and see what this strange turn key of a hotel had in store for the next sixteen some odd hours.

An hour later, Hermione's beaded suitcase was stowed away under her bed, and she'd tugged her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She climbed down the stairs and stepped into the wacky odds and ends filled pub.

Hermione peered around the room with a slow nervous smile. Each wall was splatter painted with one of the four colors dressing the outside of the building, and then on top of that was a strange combobulation of knicknacks.

Luna was behind the bar, now wearing a chalkboard apron with doodles of croissants and coffee cups. Her bleach blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she looked up with a grin. "Hermione, is your room alright? Can I get you something to drink?"

Hermione crossed the floor and pulled up a chipped line green stool. She sat, a coy smile perking onto her rosy lips. "Is there a menu?"

"If you'd like a recomendation, Miss Lovegood makes a mean cheeseburger." A husky voice surprised Hermione, but the voice didn't give her a moment to process. "In fact, Luna, can I get two cheeseburgers and fries for me and the lady? The fixings on the side, thanks, and put it on my tab.

Hermione's gaze twitched around to spy the mysterious man's face, and she instantly groaned. Why in God's name was this happening today? Hermione knew that smug smile and greasy hair anywhere. She'd seen him leering at her from the cover of glossy magazines, and in the face of a mischievous fifteen year old boy making crude jokes at the girl crying in the corner of the common room. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I warned you about the seedy characters," Luna joked, shaking her head and side stepping into the kitchen.

Suddenly, the nearly empty pub felt all too small under the gaze of one weasley Harry Potter. Hermione instinctively reached up and jerked her hair from it's bun, shaking her brown tresses into their customary waves. She wouldn't wear her casual, comfortable hairstyle around that mental man.

He pulled a stool up beside Hermione and grinned. "Looking good, Granger," he said. He nudged her side. "It's been a while."

Hermione just looked at him, feeling like she might hurl. Here she was, a twenty-three year old professional straight out of university with a good enough job (hey, it's getting better every day - or so I thought before this fiasco) and Harry Potter was making her feel like she was two inches tall with one poke and prod. "What're you doing here, Harry Potter?" She spat his name with a fierce sneer, but he merely laughed.

"What's wrong with you, Hermione? Not happy to see me," he said. Hermione didn't care that her disdain was obvious. That fact didn't phase her one bit. In fact, she preferred he see upfront how much she didn't care for his company. Maybe he would get the hint and take his signature round bottom glasses and go.

"No, I don't have time for this, Harry," she said, and he laughed. She didn't let him say another word, though, and she forged ahead. "I have an important interview to get ready for tomorrow if you don't mind leaving me to it."

He smirked and looked over his shoulder and then the other convincingly. While he surveyed the surroundings, Luna stepped out of the kitchen and deposited a drink in front of me. "I'm sorry to say I can't do that, Miss Granger. After all, it appears you were only planning on holing up on this barstool and cozying up to a drink, and I never let a lady drink alone." Potter's voice was smooth, and his gaze was piercing. Hermione hated that.

"Actually, Potter," Hermione began before pausing to take a long drag from the drink. At this point, she didn't mind the contents of the drink so much as that it took effect almost instantly. "I was going to get a bite to eat then I'm off shopping."

His head extended back with a deep chuckle, and then he smirked. "Shopping, Miss Granger? Need a pretty new dress for your interview with Ginevra Weasely?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to Harry's wicked grin, and her stomach lurched into her throat. Mr. Malfoy never mentioned the woman's name. She was a fiery ginger with a manuscript and a cup of coffee. She was a mystery. "Weasley? What're you talking about? I have an interview with an author tomorrow. She has a book. I work for a publishing company," she babbled. Seconds later, though, she forced herself to momentarily stop. "What are you talking about?"

He laughed, taking a sip from his glass. Hermione glanced at him, watching the movement of his firm jaw swallowing. He appeared far too apathetic for Hermione's taste, and she wanted to scream as he dangled the ginger's identity in front of her face mockingly. She could see that he'd not changed a bit from the mop headed teenage boy that sent her crying from her school. Just as she was about to fight back, Harry offered a wan smile. "I'm very aware that you're working at a publishing company, Hermione. Draco Malfoy is your boss, isn't he? We went to school together actually." Harry's smile perked up in response to Hermione's surprised gasp. "Don't be so shocked. You only stayed with us for a month, and Draco joined us a month and a half late," he said.

Hermione swallowed hard, and she ran her fingers through her hair. He pieced together his riddle, and her head was beginning to hurt. "Get to the punch line, Potter," she seethed, but he was unfazed.

"I'm getting there, Hermione," he said with a slow grin. "Don't spoil the fun, will you?" He chuckled before segwaying into an explanation with a swig of his drink. "This author of yours is a sassy young thing, isn't she? A sassy young thing with ginger hair and some sort of hard hitting expose on the inner circle of a celebrity lover?"

Hermione'd spent her entire life reading books, and she could see the plotline of their newly entangled lives unraveling. She pressed her face to her hands. "This book is a book about your affair with Ginny Weasley?" Hermione never met the youngest Weasley sibling, but she'd seen her freckled face along with Harry's slide grin on the glossy pages of rag mag's across supermarkets. Now, the pretty young thing was planning on strutting her tiny little bottom onto the cover of one of Mr. Malfoy's books.

Harry smiled widely, tilting his glass skyward once again with a mild shrug. His dark eyes gleamed in the low lighting just as Luna rejoined our vigil to plop the plates on the counter top in front of us. "You got that right, sister, and if you're going to keep her, you and I have a little mess to clean up."

Hermione's mind shot to the wrinkled note now tucked into a pocket of her beaded bag underneath her bed in her hotel room upstairs. Ronald Weasley's murder was now her assignment, and she just might vomit.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione stood on a pedestal in a dressing room, leering at her own reflection in the mirror. She wore a gorgeous red dress that Harry'd picked out, forbidding her from looking at the price tag. They'd left the hotel to talk in private - his words, not Hermione's - and he'd led her down a couple side streets and onto the main drag of the little town. He took her arm, and Hermione's cheeks flushed scarlet. People were staring. Who was this bushy haired vixen walking arm and arm with the illustrious Harry Potter?

Hermione watched as cell phones were pulled out and photos were taken, and she wondered how she would explain all of this to Mr. Malfoy, but of course Harry had the answer to that. As they walked, he pulled his phone from his pocket and smiled at me. His fingers grooved elegantly across the keypad, and then he pulled he phone to his ear. A moment of silence, and then; "Draco Malfoy, old chap!" There was laughter from the other end of the line and polite chatter. Hermione watched the photographers with a muted frown. She didn't even like Harry Potter. She could only imagine the rag mag headlines, and it made her want to scream. "Yes, well, that's actually why I called, Malfoy. I ran into your little publishing agent in London, and I simply have to have a night with her. Old fling, you see." His haughty smile twisted Hermione's stomach. What was he doing? What was he saying? She'd worked hard to get where she was, and suddenly he was throwing it all out the window on a whim.

Hermione reared back to protest, but Harry lifted a single hand to quell her. "Fantastic, Draco! Next time I'm in your neck of woods, I'll give you a ring." He hung up the call and grinned at her. "Problem solved, Hermione. You have plenty of time."

Hermione's mouth hung agape, and she shook her head. "At what cost?" She questioned, yanking her arm from Harry's. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to him. "I don't know about you, Potter, but I've not built my career on the premise of sleeping with whatever prick walks up and waves a few fingers. Now you've convinced my boss that I'm just another one of your little bimbos."

Harry smirked. "You don't like me very much, do you, Hermione?" He took a step toward her, and she closed her eyes. Damn that Harry Potter, thinking he owns everything and everyone. "Well, think about it this way," he began, a grin on my face. "You're about to publish Ginny Weasley's in depth exposay about my...talents." He grinned. "If you were to have a torrid love affair with me, that would boost sales, would it not?"

Hermione groaned, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. She didn't want to agree with him, so she argued. "There's no love lost here," I said.

He laughed. "Okay, then a torrid hate affair." His grin was wicked, and he took another step toward her. His hands grazed her hip, and his lips balanced on her ear. "Hate sex is even better," he whispered, and he plastered a single open mouthed kiss to her neck. She glared into the distance even as his thumbs rubbed along her hip. "Smile for the cameras, Granger. We're going dress shopping."

Hermione didn't smile, though. Instead, she peeled herself from his embrace. "I don't want to go anywhere with you, Potter." It was true. She couldn't stand being there with him on this street like one of his common whores. "I wish you would just leave me alone."

Harry chuckled. "Well, gorgeous, I can't do that, so let's make the best of this."

That is how Hermione ended up in the red dress. She scowled down at the fabric, and she clutched the silk between her fingers. It was beautiful, and Hermione imagined it cost a fortune, but Harry was buying, so she decided not to argue with it. "Fits nice," she called to Harry through the door, and he laughed.

"Well, come on out and lemme see it," he said, and despite herself she stepped around the corner. Harry sat in a chair with his legs crossed, smirking in her general direction. He stood, pivoting around her. "Well, look at you. There's a hot bod under those boxy office clothes you wear," he said.

Hermione recoiled from that, but she shook her head. "Of course I do, Potter," she said. She reached up and unleashed her hair, tossing it slowly, so that it tumbled down her shoulders. "How about it, then?" She paused, smirking at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm sure my boyfriend will like it."

Harry quirked an eyebrow toward her, taking one of her hands and spinning her around in a twisted dance. "Why didn't you tell me, then, Hermione?" He questioned, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder.

"No need to," she answered, dropping his hand and side stepping into the dressing room once again. She locked the door, and she leaned against it with a shake of her head. "No need to," she whispered, thinking of Neville in his suit and tie. He'd be going home from work about now and tossing the tie aside. Probably warming a TV dinner and watching a documentary about a castle or something equally as boring. Hermione glanced at her watch, and she pulled her phone from her pocket, hitting speed dial number one.

Two rings later, Hermione heard pots and pans rattling and the sandpaper on gravel voice of her Neville. "Hermione, hi."

Hermione smiled at the sound of his voice. "You're cooking? That isn't like you," she said, because it was true. Hermione typically did the cooking in the relationship.

Neville laughed, but there was a pause. "Well, my cook isn't here," he teased.

Hermione smirked and flexed for the mirror. "You won't ever be able to guess what I'm wearing."

Neville paused again. "Nothing?" He asked. "You're stark naked in your hotel room pining for me?"

Hermione laughed. "Close enough. I am wearing a dress that I'm pretty sure costs more than two months rent of my apartment. It clings to everything," she said.

Neville practically choked. "I have some questions then," he said.

Hermione laughed. "Well, go on then," she agreed.

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Why haven't you sent me a picture, where are you going, and who with?"

She shrugged. "I thought I would rather call and torment you a little bit," she said, raking her fingers through her hair once more. "As for where I'm going, well, I'm not going anywhere. Harry Potter is buying it for me," she said before pausing. "It's a rather long story, and it's been a strange day."

He paused. "You're with Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? The one that was so terrible to you in high school?" More rattling, and he groaned. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but can we talk about this later? There's a pot boiling over," he said.

Hermione sighed, nodding. "Okay, but I'm taking it off now. Definitely pining," she managed.

He seemed unbothered. "Alright, 'Mione. I'll talk to you later." With that, he hung up, and Hermione turned to the mirror. She watched the fabric shimmer. She sighed, maneuvering her hand to reach the zipper, but failing to reach the golden trail. "Harry, do you mind?" She called through the wall, beckoning him to join her.

Hermione could hear the smug grin before she could see it, but when he emerged in the mirror he wore a victorious grin. "A little stuck, are you?" He inquired, but he was right behind her now. His strong hands framed her back, and Hermione resisted the urge to remind the all too handsome semi stranger where the zipper actually was. His hands crept up the small of her back and tugged once at the zipper. "There we go," he said, but his hands told another story. They dragged the fabric across Hermione's shoulders, and she shivered and jerked away.

"I've got it from here, thanks," she said. She pulled the skimpy fabric more firmly on her shoulders, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't move. "Harry, would you like to move this along a smidge? Don't we have a few other stops to make?"

He laughed once. "Don't change the subject, 'Mione," he argued, placing a hand on the small of her back. She took a single deep breath as he followed the slow slope of her back. "Why didn't you mention this boyfriend of yours in the first place? Why'd you wait until now to bring the bloke up?"

Hermione shrugged, a shiver ripping through her spine. "I didn't see any need to until now. He hadn't come up," she amended. She took a step away from him, and then she turned to face him. "What does it matter?"

Harry grinned. "I think you're attracted to me," he answered. He took a step closer to her, and she took a step back - a vicious dance. "You're attracted to me, so you're creating this sexy boyfriend to distract yourselves from the sexier man in front of you." He stepped closer again, and Hermione stepped back again only to run into the back wall of the dressing room."Am I right, Miss Granger?"

"Neville is real," she said. "My boyfriend is real, Potter." She said, jerking her phone from where she'd stuck it into the lining of her bra and opened it to show him a picture of herself and Neville canoodling. "That is Neville - my Neville. I'm not making him up," she hedged under her breath.

Harry's smirk grew slowly. "You didn't argue with me," he said, and Hermione shook head. Why was everything so hard? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? She knew he was only toying with her. He didn't actually want her, so this is stupid.

Hermione shook her head. "Get out, Harry," she said, and to her surprise he did. He held up his hands like a white flag and stepped back into the lobby. Hermione pushed the dress from her shoulders, allowing it to drop with a soft thump on the carpeted floor, and then she padded barefoot to wear she'd hung her dress up on the back wall. "The nerve of that man," she muttered. "What does he think - just because he is famous he can watch me undress? Just because he was born into a family with prestige that Hermione would fall to my knees and present myself to him to have his way with me?" She muttered under her breath as she pulled her sundress back into place.

"What're you saying in there, Granger?" He asked, and Hermione sneered in reply.

"Don't listen to me either," she replied, replacing the red dress on it's hanger and then hanging it over one of her arms. She waited another moment before moving, and then she stepped into the lobby with her arms across her chest. She shoved the red dress onto the wrack and looked at him. "Alright, now I need to go to a drug store. Do you think you can handle that, or would you like to let me go completely?"

Harry shook his head. "No thanks," he said. "We still have to talk about how we're fixing Ronald's little situation." He led her out of the little boutique without argument and pointed down another side street with a grin. "There's a drug store right down this street."

Hermione turned down the street, and she looked at the ground. "What do you want from me, Potter? Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me straight away and skip all of this middle part?"

Harry laughed. "I thought we could have a little fun first, Hermione," he said, and she sighed, sensing the innuendo from a mile away. "But if you want to skip straight to the end here then fine. I want you to take care of Ron."

Hermione frowned, eyebrows pinching together with a calculated frown. "Take care of him? What do you mean by that?" She could only imagine a murder suicide pact forming without her even realizing it.

"I want you to take care of him," he said with a grin. He watched my expression blossom into panic, and then he chuckled. "I want you take Ron back home with you and hide him. Just keep him undercover while I clean up the real mess."

Hermione turned to look at him and sighed. "Are you serious? Really? You want me to take a murderer who spent an entire month tormenting me in high school into my home for God knows how long? No, Harry. That is not happening," she said.

Harry turned to look at her with a glare. "Well, then, you'll lose the book."

Hermione thought about Mr. Malfoy and the promotion she was sure to get if she got this account. She closed her eyes, remembering the snide comments of that fifteen year old boy from a huge family. She imagined the cover of Ginny's book - a saucy accent with a wide spine - and the wild popularity it would possess. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it."


End file.
